


Glory and Gore

by orphan_account



Series: Glory and Gore: A TMNT 2012 AU [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Non-Canon Relationship with OC, Salamandria, Salamandrian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6599104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set some years before the start of the 2012 series, a decade long war between the Salamandrians and Triceratrons rages on, but the fighting comes to a head when a Triceraton fleet invades the Salamandrian home planet of Salamandria. Upon her mother's orders, a young Y'Gythgba is forced to leave her planet in fear of her life, under the watch of Commander G'Throkka.</p><p> </p><p>More tags will be added with later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory and Gore

**Author's Note:**

> YO. So I've had this fic on my hard drive for a while now, since 'Moons of Thalos 3' was released.  
> Didn't know if I should publish it on here, but eh. Why not?
> 
> BTW. Assuming Mona and the turtles are 15-17 years old, the beginning of this AU is set when Mona is about 10-11 years old.
> 
> *y'rukya = non-canon Salamandrian word meaning 'my love'.

"I don't ever think about death  
It's alright if you do, it's fine  
We gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves  
Roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes  
Wide awake in bed, words in my brain,  
"Secretly you love this do you even wanna go free?"  
Let me in the ring, I'll show you what that big word means."

 _Glory and Gore_ , Lorde

* * *

 

The young salamandrian frowned as she raised the sword in her hand. Her grey knuckles turned white as they tightly gripped the coal black hilt. Her yellow eyes, with orange speckles, narrowed as she adjusted her stance and lowered her body closer to the cold metal floor. Her laid tail flat and still, like a fallen, hardwood log as she waited for the command.

            “Attack. Leave no room for error,” a voice boomed behind her. She didn’t dare look back or acknowledge the order with words. Instead she kept her focus on her opponent, a training robot, standing a few feet in front of her. The robot, with flashing green lights adorning its body, beeped and raised its gun in the air, its laser pointer aimed squarely at her chest. Then without any further warning, from it or the voice behind her, the robot fired a barrage of green beam bullets in her direction.

            With difficulty, the young salamandrian leapt to the side, barely dodging the onslaught of laser bullets, and began to run. As she ran, she avoided each round of gunfire, using each leaping dodge roll she took to close the distance between her and her robotic opponent. Her chest heaving with each step she took, but not once did she take her eyes off her target.

            Crossing the floor, the salamandrian warrior-in-training took her sword into both hands and prepared for the fatal strike at the robot’s feet, staring into the barrel of the gun. Crouching low to the floor, the young warrior stabbed her sword in an upward-diagonal motion, impaling the robot in its side. Blue sparks flickered and flashed, blinding her for a moment. The salamandrian turned her head away and shut her eyes, shielding them from the sparks. Only the sound of clanging metal against metal, and a final, dying beep, reassured the young warrior of her victory.

            The young salamandrian pulled her sword from the motionless robot’s side as she stood, her hand gripping the hilt tightly. For a short while, she stood there staring at her opponent, a frown forming om her small face – its dead, colourless eyes stared back into hers. She had defeated it. She had won.

            In a short bout of frustration, she gave out a tiny roar and kicked its head for good measure, ignoring the small burst of blue sparks that fizzled from the exposed wires. Her nostrils flared and her yellow eyes burned, but a moment she was calm, her tight grip loosening on her sword. Her anger subsided, she turned and faced her teacher.

            The older salamandrian, with cobalt blue skin, stared at her with his calculating yellow eyes. She knew what she had done wrong, and she knew her teacher knew it as well. She just wasn’t looking forward to his lecture.

            “Good work,” he croaked as he folded his arms across his chest. “But you took your eyes off your opponent. You must never—”

            “ _I must never take my eyes off my opponent.”_ she grumbled in between breaths. Her small chest rose and fell heavily as she scowled at him. How many times had he drilled those words into her head? It wasn’t her fault the sparks got in her eyes. Would he prefer if she was blinded and vulnerable?! She wanted to lash out at him, but she wouldn't. Lashing out at her teacher would only infuriate him and would result in a longer, more boring lecture about respecting her elders. So instead, the young salamandrian swallowed her pride. “I know, G’Throkka. It was a mistake.”

            Removing his own battered blade from the dark leather scabbard that hung from his waist, the male walked towards her. “A single mistake can mean the difference between life and death,” he told her as he lifted the sword, pointing it at the tip of her snout. “Now, attack me,” he commanded, swinging it away, before shifting into a more defensive position, his sword still drawn.

            There was a short, silent pause between the two. The young salamandrian frowned, her grip tightening on the sword. But she did not move. She stood there, staring defiantly at her teacher. She was not in the mood for a sparring match she knew she couldn’t win. There was no honour in it. No pride as a warrior. No—

            “I am only trying to help you, Lady Y’Gythgba. You can not improve your abilities as a warrior if you do not participate,” he told her. A small, but wicked smirk appeared at the corner if his mouth as he added, “Unless you wish to remain weak for the rest of your life…”

             With a tiny grunt, the young salamandrian royal obliged and lifted her blade, admiring its shine under the harsh, blue fluorescent light from above. Her eyes flickered to face her new opponent. Her anger boiled up inside; traces of fire dancing in her stare. With a toss of her head, she charged, sword raised as she let out a battle cry.

            “Good! Excellent,” her teacher grinned as their blades clashed, the sound echoing off the walls. Both salamandrians drew away their swords, circled each other and then collided again, and again, and again. The sound of steel beating against steel and tiny growls of frustration filled the silence between them.

            Being inherently stronger and the more experienced of the two, G’Throkka had the advantage. He kept his eyes on her as they parried to and thro. The young warrior-in-training was half his size, only standing just above his waist, but she was more tenacious than most warriors twice her age. He respected that, even if her abilities had yet to truly bloom.

            Sweat droplets formed on her spotted brow, glittering under the harsh light like jewels on a crown. Her eyes, intense and focused, watched him. She gritted her teeth, and hardened her stare as she dared to take a chance. As G’Throkka swung, Y’Gythgba ducked away from his blade and leapt behind him. She was going for his weak spot – every salamandrian’s weak spot – the tail, but as she raised her sword in the air and brought it down, she forgot one important detail: salamandrian warriors always used their greatest weakness to their advantage.

            Like a whip, G’Throkka’s tail flicked away from her sword as it came down, the steel blade narrowly missing the flesh. His tail then swung back, towards her, striking the young warrior-in-training, knocking her sword out of her hands as she was sent sliding across the floor, crashing headfirst into the wall on the other side of the room. Her sword bounced to a stop beside her with a crash and a clang.

            The wind taken from her lungs, Y’Gythgba let out a wheezy groan and laid still for a moment, eyes closed in pain as she placed one hand on her stomach. She cursed herself for being so foolish. How could she think that he wouldn’t use his tail? Any warrior would. It was basic combat tactics! She exhaled a sigh through her nostrils and gripped her hand into a tight fist. It was her fifth mistake of the day, and one she knew she shouldn’t have made, especially not at her age. A warrior had to have a clear mind, but today something was clearly distracting the young warrior, leaving her unfocused and vulnerable.

            Opening her eyes, she found G’Throkka standing above her, sheathing his sword and shaking his head as he clicked his tongue. “It is fortunate that I am not a true threat. If I was, I fear you would be taking your last breath.”

            “If I had any,” she retorted, her mouth twisted into a pout, matching the pained frown on her face as she looked up at him from the flat of her back. G’Throkka let out a hearty laugh and hoisted her off the metal floor with a single pull. His strength never ceased to amaze her. It was no wonder why he was so well regarded by the other warriors.

            “Perhaps,” he smiled, touching her shoulder. Then, suddenly, his wide grin turned to a concerned frown as he dropped onto one knee to meet her at eye level. “Forgive me for being forward Lady Y’Gythgba, but is everything alright? You seem… distracted. You have not made this many mistakes on a single occassion in quite a while.”

            The warrior-in-training avoided his gaze. It had been days since she had last seen her parents before they had left to fight off an incoming Triceraton fleet, and she, nor any others, had received no word on the battle’s outcome. It was a worrying sign and the thought of losing them had eaten away at her the previous night, leaving her sleepless and anxious.

“It is my parents, G’Throkka. I… worry for them,” she whispered, her shoulders tensing as she stared at the ground, her eyes beginning to mist. “What if they do not return?” Y’Gythgba asked, her voice wavering as she spoke.

            “I doubt there is any need to worry,” he assured her with a nod of his head. “Lord R’koha and Lady U’Dratha are highly trained warriors, both by blood and by years of experience. They will be fine.”

            Y’Gythgba opened her mouth to speak and question his reasoning, when the sound of electronic doors sliding open and familiar, light footsteps caught the young royal’s attention. She snapped her head around to face the sound, her eyes wide and full with hope.

At the other end of the room, in the middle of the large, arched doorway, stood a tall, slender, dark blue female, who was dressed in a turquoise one-piece battle armour with long sleeves and pants that were cut off at the thigh.

            “M’rar!” Y’Gythgba with joyful surprise as she broke away from G’Throkka’s hold on her shoulder and bounded towards them. “You have returned!” she exclaimed as she flung herself into her mother’s arms, her face beaming with joy as she nuzzled her snot against her mother’s stomach. Not saying a word in greeting to Y’Gythgba, her mother stood tall – her daughter’s tackle had barely shaken her stance – and looked to G’Throkka.

            “We do not have much time,” she stated, her lips curling into a snarl. “Y’Gythgba, gather your things, we must evacuate. Now.”

            “But M’rar—“

            Her mother’s eyes flickered down to her daughter. She frowned, her brows forming deep crease marks on her already worn face.

            “ _Do not make me ask you again, Y’Gythgba._ ”

            Y’Gythgba blinked and looked to her mother’s face. She had only seen her mother this serious once, a few days ago, when the Triceraton fleet had first entered a neighbouring star system. The tone and ferocity of her voice made Y’Gythgba nervous. Her mother was always calm and collected. Something was seriously wrong. The young salamandrian swallowed and detached herself from her mother’s waist.

            “Yes M’rar,” she said with a nod, before ducking behind her and exiting through the door. When her echoing footsteps had faded, the female exhaled a heavy a deep breath and rested her hands on her hips.

            “Lady U’Dratha?” G’Throkka said cautiously as he stepped towards her. There was a look of alarm in his eyes as he asked, “What of the battle? Has the Triceraton threat been dealt with?”

            U’Dratha met his stare. She sighed heavily and shook her head. “Our forces fought honourably, but we were out matched. Many perished in the cannon fire.” U’Dratha swallowed, her voice breaking. “Including R’Koha.”

            G’Throkka’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, to give his condolences, but his voice became stuck in his throat. Instead, he reached out to touch her shoulder, but she slapped it away.

            “We will mourn later,” she said with a growl. “For now, we have more important matters to attend too.”

            The warrior nodded and bowed his head respectfully. “Of… Of course.”

            “Citizen evacuations have already begun,” U’Dratha explained, her hands pulled behind her back and she puffed out her chest. “And while I would usually call upon your leadership to overlook the matter, I have a favour to ask.”

            “Anything.”

            “Take Y’Gythgba off-world. Take her far away from here.”

            “U’Dratha?” G’Throkka said, his brows furrowing in concern. “Are you sure that is wise?”

            “The Triceratons are ruthless, G’Throkka. You know they will not stop until they have slaughtered any trace of royal salamandrian blood in this galaxy, including my daughter,” U’Dratha muttered, raising a hand to touch her furrowed brow. “If she is to survive the coming bloodbath, she needs to escape now, while she has the opportunity.”

            The male frowned. He did not like this. It was not in his blood to turn away, tail between legs, and run. It went against everything he knew; everything he lived by. But he was also a servant to the Royal Family, and any command by U’Dratha was law – warrior instincts or no.

            “And what will you do?” he asked, his voice remained even despite the anger boiling in his veins. But he held his tongue, for now.

            U’Dratha exhaled a deep breath and stared off into the distance, her eyes hazing over. Her frown disappeared, leaving her expression blank and eerily calm. “I will stay here,” she said. “My men and I will hold the Triceratons’ attention long enough for the civilians to make their escape. It will be up to you and the council to guide the masses until Y’Gythgba comes of age.”

            “You can not be serious, U’Dratha!” G’Throkka spat as he stepped towards her, fists shaking at his sides. “I— The masses look to you for guidance! The council is fickle, they barely agree on simple regulations, let alone on how to rule Salamandria. And I am just a warrior! I have no political power over them. They will not listen to me, you know this.”

            “You sell yourself too short, _Commander._ ”

            G’Throkka froze in place. His eyes widened as he stared at her. She smiled at him, nodding her head. He swallowed, raising a shaking hand to touch his neck.

            “Commander?” he repeated, letting the title roll on his tongue. “I—U’Dratha. I couldn’t—No—I—Surely there are others better suited for the position. I am no leader. I—”

            “G’Throkka,” U’Dratha interrupted as she closed the distance between them in two short strides. She smiled at him as she raised her hand to his cheek, her knuckles softly grazing his skin. “You are a fine warrior and are worthy of the role. You are the last soul on Salamandria that I would trust with my daughter’s life. Take care of her and watch over her. It has been an honour to know you, y’rukya. May we meet again soon.”

            With lidded eyes, G’Throkka leaned down and pressed his snout against her own, sighing softly. He drew a claw against her chin and lifted it so she met his gaze. “The honour is mine, y’rukya,” he croaked, his breath hitched as she placed a gentle hand on his collar bone, her claws pricking his skin. “I will keep her safe, do not worry.”

            Then without another word or longing stare, G’Throkka bowed his head and stepped aside, striding out the door and into the hall with his head held high. He had a new purpose now and he would keep the promise he made to U’Dratha. No harm would come to Y’Gythgba as long as he had air in his lungs and a sword at his side. She would be safe in his company, and one day, he would be there by her side as she took her place on her mother’s throne, ushering in a new era of peace for their kind. But first, he had to get her safety off the planet and away from the Triceraton army.


End file.
